


t w o  l u n g s

by xoxogossipenjolras (tiptoes)



Series: up in smoke [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Les Mis AU, Multi, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoes/pseuds/xoxogossipenjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire shuts the door behind him, shuffling to put the bouquet of flowers into the empty vase by the bed. He stands awkwardly by the edge of the bed, rubbing his fingers together. “I got these for you,” he finally says, gesturing towards the red blossoms.<br/>“Thank you,” Enjolras says from the bed.</p><p>(Les Mis Super!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	t w o  l u n g s

_Sunday_  
  
The sun sits low in the amber clouds, and the wind is starting to bite. Cosette wraps her coat tighter around herself, burying her chin in the camel-coloured scarf looped around her neck. The heels of her boots clack against the cobbled sidewalk as she hurries to The Musain to escape the chill.

Cosette spots Jehan, Courfeyrac and Combeferre through the foggy window of The Musain, and she makes her way inside. The bell on the door chimes as she opens it, an Jehan waves her over to their table.

"Hey!" Courfeyrac says cheerily, his voice no longer nasally like it was two days ago.

Cosette grins at him, taking a seat on the overstuffed armchair opposite the sofa. "Your cold seems to have cleared up nicely," she observes, and Courfeyrac laughs.

"I went to the doctor's, like these two asked," he says, nudging Jehan and Combeferre. "It was only a brief little bug, nothing too serious."

Cosette hums, unravelling her scarf. The pub is almost stiflingly hot compared to the weather outside, and rain is starting to patter lightly on the window. Cosette sighs, regretting not bringing an umbrella.

"Oh, it's raining!" Jehan says, pouting. "Going home's going to be such a pain." Courfeyrac pulls out his phone, saying something about texting Grantaire for an umbrella, and Combeferre fixes his gaze on Cosette.

Cosette has only met Combeferre a few times – once at Jehan's house, then twice at The Musain – but they've never really had a proper conversation. Cosette knows Combeferre is vastly intelligent – he graduated university at fifteen, absorbs information like a sponge, can speak about twenty languages – and endlessly kind. He is level-headed and calm, and is the brains and the guide to his little group.

He observes Cosette over his horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes – a strange, deep, blue – set stark against his bright copper skin. "How are you, Cosette?" He asks, his lips curved upwards.

"I'm doing alright," Cosette replies, matching his smile. "How about you, Combeferre?"

He tilts his head slightly to the right, an eyebrow slightly raised. "I suppose I'm doing alright too," he says, and Cosette nods.

"Did you hear about Apollo?" She asks casually, watching him closely for a response like Jehan and Courfeyrac's, but his expression remains neutral. Cosette is almost disappointed.

"I did," Combeferre hums, and out of the corner of Cosette's eye, Jehan and Courfeyrac share a guilty look. "Terrible, isn't it?" Combeferre continues. "I'm sure he'll be back on the scene soon enough, though."

"You think?" Cosette asks, smirking a little. Combeferre simply nods at her, unperturbed.

"Definitely," he says. "It would take a lot more than a group of thugs to take down such an experienced Super. Besides, there's that new Super hanging about. The one with the wings? I'm sure you've heard."

Cosette catches the emphasis on the word "you've", but doesn't let herself begin to panic. Just because her father figured it out, it doesn't mean someone she's met only three times before would be able to.

Right?

Besides, Combeferre's got his game, and Cosette's got hers.

"Oh yes," she says, leaning back in her chair. "I've heard of her."

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. "I didn't know they were a girl," he says. Cosette internally smacks herself. She racks her brain for an explanation, and is saved momentarily by a tinkling of the doorbell.

"I saw her chase after a thief a few days ago," she says, finally. Combeferre nods, the quirk of his lip almost impressed.

Courfeyrac clears his throat, and Jehan looks almost winded.

"That was like watching the most intense chess match ever," Courfeyrac says. "What the hell, guys?"

Combeferre laughs, and simply shakes his head. "Oh, it wasn't _intense_."

Jehan widens his eyes at Combeferre, as if to say "excuse me?" But Combeferre pats Jehan's thigh as Jehan rolls his eyes.

"Cosette!" Says a voice from behind her, and she turns to see Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet. Musichetta bends down to hug Cosette tightly, kissing her on the cheek.

Musichetta is stunningly, ridiculously beautiful. Her smile is brilliant and wide, her amber eyes large and full of laughter, and her hair is jet black and sleek. Her dark skin is unblemished and smooth, and she is tight muscle drawn over long bones. Today, her lips are a bright orange-red and her eyeliner is winged and old Hollywood-esque. Her collared shirt is a warm gold, and her ankle-length trousers are a deep moss green and tailored to fit perfectly. Cosette grins at her, and can't help but feel a little underdressed.  
Musichetta sits on the small sofa next to Cosette, and Joly tucks himself against her arm. Bossuet squeezes in next to Joly, and they all just about fit on the sofa. Joly reaches over to press the back of his hand against Courfeyrac's forehead ("I told you, Joly. I'm _fine_ now!" "Oh, I just want to make sure.")

Musichetta settles in, and crosses her legs at the knee. The red soles of her heels scrape against the floor, and she leans over the arm of Cosette's chair to wink cheekily at her.

"Hey, 'Chetta," Cosette says, and Musichetta's gin widens.

"How are you, darling?" Musichetta asks. "Oh I'm fine. My dad visited, actually. He just left this morning," Cosette says, and Musichetta placed her hand on Cosette's arm.

"The famous Jean Valjean, huh?" She says. "I'd like to meet him some day. Call me the next time he's in town, we'll do lunch. And I promise I won't question him too much on Super politics. Maybe." Musichetta is fascinated with Cosette's father's work, particularly with his connection with Supers.

"Sure," Cosette says, and Musichetta squeezes her arm.

* * *

 "Are you sure you wanna go in to tonight, Ep?" Grantaire asks worriedly, pressing his palm to Eponine's forehead. "I've never seen you like this before."

Eponine brushes him off, tugging her sweater over her head. Two days ago, she had woken up on the roof of her building with no recollection of what had happened the previous evening, and about two hundred texts from Montparnasse and Grantaire asking where she was. In the end, it was Gavroche that found her.

"I'll be fine. You go visit your friend, then come back on time for your shift, 'kay?" She says, looking around for her keys. She knows Grantaire is pulling the puppy eyes, so she doesn't look up.

"Gav?" She calls. "Gavroche, where are you?"

Gavroche pops up from behind the couch, hair in a rat's nest and clutching Eponine's keys in a tight fist. "I won't let you go," he says stubbornly, nodding at Grantaire over Eponine's shoulder. " _We_ won't let you go."

Eponine sighs, rubbing a palm over her face. "Give me the keys, Gavroche," she says, but he shakes his head stubbornly.

"Gavroche!" She snaps, and he cowers back behind the couch. She sighs again, and walks around the couch to kneel next to him. "Look," she says, softer. "I'm sorry. But I need to go to work, okay? R's gonna drop you off at 'Parnasse's, and I'm gonna pick you up later, okay?"

Gavroche reluctantly hands her keys, but wraps his little fingers around her wrist. "Promise me you won't go out supering tonight, 'Ponine. _Promise_."

Eponine turns her hand in Gavroche's grip, and taps him on his wrist. "I promise. Now let's go before I'm late, okay?"

Gavroche shuffles out from behind the couch, and into his coat that Grantaire is holding up for him. Eponine presses a kiss on Gavroche's forehead, and wipes away the pink mark her lipstick leaves behind. He grips her hand as they walk out onto the street, and Grantaire presses a palm to her shoulder.

"You sure you're–" he starts, but Eponine rolls her eyes. "I'm fine, R. You worry about your friend instead, yeah?"

Grantaire huffs a frustrate laugh. "Of course I'm gonna worry about you. En– _he's_ got a group of people surrounding him. You've got me, and 'Parnasse, and Gav. Two of us aren't even Supers, and one's quite the opposite. We aren't exactly the wonder team."

Eponine laughs, stalling as they come up to The Musain. "You're good enough," she says, hugging him. "You be good for 'Parnasse, okay?" She says to Gavroche, who rolls his eyes.

"Sure," he says, hugging her around the waist. "Love ya, 'Ponine."

"Love you too, Gav," she says, and Grantaire takes Gavroche's hand to lead him to Montparnasse's flat in the next neighbourhood. Eponine pushes through the door of The Musain, and hangs her jacket and scarf on the hat stand by the door. The passes Grantaire's group of friends in the corner – once again, joined by their pretty little blonde friend – and makes her way to the counter to get her apron from the last employee. He hands her an apron and gestures towards the platter of drinks on the counter, and he makes his way out the back door.

Eponine wraps the apron around her waist and reads the receipt for the drinks. She whistles low, and shakes her head. The Musain is lucky to be Grantaire's friends' meeting place.

She balances the drinks on one hand and she walks over to place the tray on the table. She hands the receipt to whom she _thinks_ is called Combeferre, and starts taking the orders from the newer additions to the group

Eponine knows Joly will only drink fruit juice – apple, today – and Bossuet likes his coke with a little umbrella. Musichetta usually orders a ridiculous, colourful drink to challenge her, and their pretty blonde friend – Cosette, if Eponine remembers correctly – orders a tonic water.

Musichetta tilts her head at Eponine, brow furrowed in concern. "You alright, Ep?" She asks.

Eponine shrugs. "I'm not doing a hundred per cent," she says, and Joly looks up at her.

"Just a headache," Eponine reassures him. "Promise."

Musichetta nods, tapping her fingers against the arm of the sofa. "You gonna go out later?" she asks casually, and Eponine shakes her head. "Nah," she says. "I'm staying in tonight, I think."

Musichetta nods at her again, knowing full well what Eponine means. She may not know Eponine that well, but Musichetta's been a Super for a long time. She knows when she should take a little extra weight for the other low-profile Supers of the city.

* * *

 Grantaire shuts the door behind him, shuffling to put the bouquet of flowers into the empty vase by the bed. He stands awkwardly by the edge of the bed, rubbing his fingers together. “I got these for you,” he finally says, gesturing towards the red blossoms.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says from the bed, red duvet pulled up to his chin. “They’re lovely.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says. “Jehan said they’d look nice in your room.”

A small smile tugs at Enjolras’ mouth. “They do,” he says.

They lapse into silence, Grantaire’s eyes wandering everywhere that is decidedly _not_ Enjolras. Enjolras just looks at him, from his position on the bed. Joly had tucked him in nice and warmly and snuggly, but that almost means that he can’t move from the neck down.

Not that he really wants to. It hurts to move.

“So,” Grantaire says, clearing his throat loudly. “I made sure to come when everyone was gone. I know Bossuet’s allergic.”

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. “You could have hidden,” he says, and Grantaire snorts.

“You can’t hide in minimalist furniture,” he says, finally looking Enjolras in the eye. Enjolras blinks back at him.

“What?” he says.

Grantaire stares back at him and shakes his head. “I forgot,” he says, chuckling. “You don’t watch any good television, do you?”

Enjolras bristles, shuffling under the blankets. “I do,” he says, sticking his chin out.

“You watch the news, Enjolras,” Grantaire says, fondness creeping in his voice. “That does not count at quality television.”

Enjolras stares unblinkingly at him, before rolling his eyes. Grantaire takes this as win in his part, and makes a mental note to update the scoreboard on the chalkboard at home.

“Are you just going to stand there?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire flushes. He looks around the room for an extra chair, but doesn’t find any. He looks down at the bed and heaves a sigh. He sits down on the edge of the bed, trying not the move the mattress too much. Enjolras winces with the movement anyway, and the face Grantaire pulls is nothing short of horrified.

Enjolras shakes his head and sighs. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’ve been through worse before.”

Grantaire grimaces, and rubs a hand through his hair. “That’s kind of what I want to talk to you about.”

Enjolras’ brow furrows, and he squints at Grantaire through his hair. “About?” He says, a little sharply. Grantaire almost winces.

“Enjolras, I–” Grantaire starts, but pauses. He runs his fingers through his unruly hair, looking for the right words. He takes a deep breath, and starts again. “Enjolras, I know you’ve been doing this a long time. The Super thing, I mean. And even though Apollo is immortal and probably bulletproof and probably immune to whatever poisons you can throw at him, _you_ are not.”

Enjolras’ light eyes set on Grantaire’s, steely and cold and a little confused. “Excuse me?” he asks.

Grantaire swallows, the movement going through his whole body. “You have to be more careful, Enjolras. You don’t _know_ what went through my mind when we saw that news report. What went through _my_ mind. How _I_ felt.” Grantaire looks at Enjolras, his eyes sad but knowing and understanding and frustrated and _scared_. “You aren’t invincible, Enjolras. Please, _please_ , stop acting like you are.”

“I have to do what’s right for the peo–”

“What about _you_?” Grantaire bursts, standing up. His body is coiled like a spring, ready to jump. Ready to _snap_. Thunder rolls from outside the window, lightning crackling against the darkening sky.

“What _about_ me?” Enjolras says, almost deadpan. “I use my gift for good. It’s good enough for me. What about you? You could help people. Yet you refuse to.”

Grantaire stares down at Enjolras, eyes unwavering. “Not all of us are you, Enjolras,” he says, flat and exhausted. Enjolras’ breath almost catches in his throat. He swallows with difficulty.

“You could try,” Enjolras starts, his voice hoarse and wavering a little. Grantaire scoffs, kicking his trainers into the carpet. He shakes his head.

“No,” he says softly. “I’m just Icarus. You’re Helios, and I’ve just flown too close.”

Enjolras tears his eyes away from the Grantaire’s. “It’s _Apollo_ ,” he says stubbornly. Grantaire laughs, the sound almost astonished.

“We both know how ridiculous that is,” Grantaire says, walking to the door. “I’ll see you, _Apollo_. I need to get to work.”

He leaves without looking back, the door left a little ajar. Enjolras can still see him when he leaves the apartment into the now pouring rain. He lies there, paralyzed from the pain oozing from his slowly closing wounds and from the ache in his core. The ache digs deep into him, into his liver and his kidneys and in his fingers and his bone marrow. It’s almost stifling, and he breathes slowly. _How_ I _felt_ , was what Grantaire said. Grantaire would be worried about Enjolras, sure, but–

Enjolras shakes his head. He would ask Combeferre in the morning. The ache in his is making him tired in a way that nothing makes his tired anymore. He sighs, breath escaping in a soft huff.

He closes his eyes, and tries to ignore the ache in his liver and his kidneys and in his fingers and his bone marrow and his heart.

* * *

When Grantaire enters the Musain, a towel is flung at him. Eponine says nothing, and just throws him a _look_ as she goes back to the bar. Grantaire shrugs off his jacket, now heavy with rain, and runs the towel through his inky curls. He dries his hair as best as he can and slings the towel over his shoulder. Bahorel and Feuilly nudge his shoulder playfully as they pass, and he nods at Courfeyrac, who winks back at him from where he’s sprawled over Jehan and Combeferre on the old sofa.

Grantaire ducks behind the bar to where Eponine is sitting on the floor, a cold rag pressed against her forehead. He swats him damp towel and her, and she scowls at him as he sits down next to her.

“Headache?” he asks, and Eponine nods. She drops the rag to the floor and fumbles with the knot of her apron. She undoes it and flings it at Grantaire, who catches it easily. He stands, and ties the apron around his neck. He holds out a hand, and Eponine takes it reluctantly. She’s still shaking slightly, but she manages a small smile.

“I’m gonna–” she trails off, gesturing to where Grantaire’s friends are sitting. Grantaire tilts his head at her. Eponine clears her throat, and starts again. “I’m gonna go talk to Bahorel a-about _things_ , I guess.”

Grantaire pats her cheek lightly. “You do that,” he says. Eponine nods, barely wobbling as she walks.

Grantaire’s phone chirps in his pocket, and he leans against the bar to check it.

[22:57] Montparnasse: _How is she?_

Grantaire rolls his eyes. For someone who smudges his eyeliner and wears spikes on his jackets, Montparnasse is such a worrier.

[22:57] Me: _she’s fine. so am i thanks for asking_

[22:59] Montparnasse: _That’s good. Thank you for taking care of her. Again._

Grantaire shakes his head slightly, a little amused. He’s been over this with Montparnasse. _Gavroche_ has been over this with Montparnasse.

[23:00] Me: _it’s fine. again_

Grantaire catches Eponine’s eye over Feuilly’s head, and shakes his phone at her. _It’s the worrywart_ , he mouths at her, and Eponine rolls her eyes fondly. A little colour has come back to her face, and Grantaire’s glad to see her less sickly than before. Gavroche would never forgive him.

Grantaire does his rounds – as usual, the Musain is filled with the typical lot, and they all know Grantaire by name – and wipes down a few tables. It’s a slow day, and Grantaire’s mood as cleared up considerably. The rain outside has even settled down to a light drizzle.

Bahorel waves him over, and he takes his time clearing up his friends’ glasses. Musichetta introduces him to Cosette (“We’ve met, briefly,” he says, and Musichetta rolls her eyes in mock frustration. “Well _excuse me_ for trying to be friendly,” she says, and Cosette laughs.) and Jehan manages to weave a daisy into his hair without him noticing. He takes the dirty glasses back to the bar, and he hears Combeferre come up behind him.

And by _hear_ , he of course means feels him in his _mind._

(Because that’s just how Combeferre likes to greet people.)

“Good day?” Grantaire asks, and Combeferre hums in response. “That Cosette girl’s an interesting one,” Combeferre says.

Grantaire stands on his tiptoes to look back at the group in the corner, and shrugs. “In what way?” he asks. He sees Eponine’s gaze linger on the blonde, and smirks. “Interesting in the way Eponine finds her interesting, or in the way _Enjolras_ would?”

Combeferre’s smirk matches Grantaire’s own, and he ducks his head. “In the way _we_ find her interesting, R.”

Grantaire stares at his reflection in Combeferre’s glasses. “That means nothing to me at all,” he says.

Combeferre just chuckles.

“Here,” Combeferre finally says, placing his credit card on the bar. “I’m paying tonight. Don’t let Bahorel order a round of shots. And don’t let Feuilly let Bahorel order a round of shots either.”

Grantaire jerks his wrist in a mock salute, and swipes Combeferre’s card through the machine. “Thanks for keeping this place running,” he drawls, holding the card out between two fingers. Combeferre just smiles at him.

“No problem,” he says. “I’ll be off, then. See you soon?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grantaire says. “Have fun.”

Combeferre nods his head, and walks to the door. Jehan and Courfeyrac are already there – Jehan holding out Combeferre’s jacket and Courfeyrac poised with an umbrella. Grantaire watches them walk through the misty window of the pub, and folds over to sit underneath the bar. Water drips from the small cloud forming above his head, and he groans.

**Author's Note:**

> sobs i though i uploaded this a month ago but APPARENTLY NOT
> 
> tumblr: spoopykyungsoo


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